A Helping Hand
by fandombloggingaddict
Summary: John Bender is the most mysterious, witty, dangerous criminal at Shermer High. At home, on the other hand, it's a different story. He finds that things become a lot more complicated when his home life and school life bleed together. When all he knows is the abusive habbits and pain-inducing fists of his father, all he needs is a helping hand.


**A/N: Format fixed, story edited. Here's some delisciously merciless Bender whump for all** of** my little sickos out there. Enjoy.**

John Bender left the school begrudgingly for the first time in his life. He'd never been more eager to stay in that building than to get the hell out of there but after today's detention he suspected that many things would be different, such as his veiw on his life and others'. Before he simply accepted it or didn't give a fuck; now that he'd met Andy, Claire, Allison and Brian, he saw an oppurtunity that he'd never considered before. As he dragged his feet toward his house he realized that for the first time in his life he'd told someone about what his domestic life was like. He told four kids he hardly knew about his father, and he expressed how much rage was hidden beneath his nonchalant surface. Now he cringed at how he'd reacted, but at the time he's nearly exploded when Andy said he was lying. John still didn't understand. Why would he lie about it? He knew first-hand how terrifying and painful it was to live in a home like that, how shitty he turned out and how he felt. Why would anyone choose that to be how they described their life? It was fucked up in his opinion. He wished so hard that this wasn't his life, that he could be the athlete with a future or the popular kid with a rich family. As he passed the street he'd first been jumped on, he thought about the others' complaints. Claire was upset because her parents didn't get along and bought her expensive gifts out of guilt, Brian felt too much pressure for being the perfect student and got suicidal over an F, Andy didn't want the future his father chose, and Allison's home life was "unsatisfying". Oh, what he'd give for any of their lives. If only his issues were so simple. He didn't hate them for thinking their lives were so terrible while they were actually peachy fucking keen. But if he'd truly told them, if they'd seen the real scars, they'd shut the fuck up. He'd lived in hell his whole life. When he did that little presentation and showed them that scar, they'd only caught a glimpse of it. He didn't know what he would've done if they'd asked if there was more. Oh, there was so much more. That was one of his least gnarly scars, the simplest possible way of describing how he received that torture. They didn't know shit, and he was so envious of their innocence.

Now he was only a block away from his personal hell, and his paced slowed. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know how he felt about today, but he didn't want this budding hope to die; it would if walked through that door. If he was totally honest with himself, he'd lied in that library. He never sought out a fight from his parents. If anything, he did everything possible to avoid them. And he never, ever struck them. He could never attack his mother because no matter how much of a bitch she could be, she was a petite woman, and even he knew it'd be wrong to take advantage of that. He could never hit his father because the bully would probably beat him to a pulp for even thinking to fight back. Plus, John could hardly defend himself at all as it was. By now he'd learned well to never fight back, unless the violence was directed toward his mother. John would always take the blows for her despite how she'd just watch his efforts, along with him, get crushed. He wondered if Princess Claire would laugh or cry over his broken form if she were there. For all he knew, she would join in with his father. Maybe she thought he deserved it. He sure as hell knew he did. He'd learned that lesson long, long ago.

He stood in front of the house, closing his eyes tiredly when he heard a crash and screams of anger. His dad was drunk, again. He shouldn't be surprised. The bastard had been drunk almost every night for the past seventeen years, at least. John had the scars to prove it. He could sneak in through his bedroom window, but it was too risky. He'd just have to try to make it to his room escaping attention. He opened the door and closed it silently; he figured that his parents were in the kitchen and headed for his room. As he reached for his door, though, a hand grabbed his arm and spun him around so his back was shoved into the wall. He looked up at his father. "You're late you stupid ass," the man slurred. He looked John up and down. "Where the hell ya been?" John looked down. "I was at school." "Right, school. I don't know why the fuck I pay for you to go someplace ya don't even fucking learn shit. You're probably failing, you retarded fuck. I should go see the principal about you." John shook his head sharply. If the two men he hated (and although he despised admitting it, feared) most got together, his life would be over. Vernon already threatened to "kick the living shit" out of him today, and not before (what he thought to be successfully) locking him in a closet for hours without food or water. If he got any more ideas, school could become as awful as here, and he was not eager for that to happen. "Fine, I don't need to hear it from some stupid dick how much of a waste of air you are." He suddenly reached for John. "What the hell is this?" He grabbed Claire's diamond earring in John's ear. "You fucking steal this?" He ripped it out and ignored his son's yelp of pain as the blood poured. "This probably ain't even real you good-for-nothing, lying little thief!" He punched him in the gut, knocking his breath out. The man punched him over and over until John fell to the ground. He groaned as he looked up. John remembered the Breakfast Club and their choice to change, to overcome their differences. John gathered his courage and said, "I didn't steal it. I'm not that pathetic." His father roared, "Oh yeah? 'Cause you look pretty fucking pathetic to me!" He kneed John in the chin and his head snapped back. He curled in on himself as the kicks landed on his torso and head, until they stopped. He moaned at his body's intense throbbing. "Got anything to say now, smartass?" He accentuated the insult with another kick to the ribs and John gasped as he felt one crack under the force. His father kneeled and grabbed a handful of his son's long hair, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Nothing?" John's breath hitched as the man tightened his fist in his hair. "Scared, Johnny boy? Don't wanna spend time with your old man?" John thought about how Claire had urged him to "Cut it out!" when he'd mouthed off at Dick, and what she'd think of what he was about to say. He looked defiantly in his dad's eyes and growled, "I'm not scared. I'm not the pussy that beats his wife and kid." The man's face contorted and he yelled, "The fuck did you just say, faggot? I'll show you, you'll learn to hold your tongue you worthless shit!" He stood, still holding John by his hair, and dragged him into the boy's room. John tried to get up when he was dropped but his father locked the door and turned to him. "Take the coat off, Johnny." John's eyes widened as he fervently shook his head. "Do it, NOW!" John looked for an escape but found none. He returned his gaze to the snarling drunk. After a few seconds he lowered his gaze and slowly took off the long coat. "Go on," Joe growled. John unbuttoned his shirt with trembling hands. When it took too long his father stomped up and punched him. He tore of his son's shirts and threw them to the corner. "Kneel, fag." John's knees buckled as Joe pushed down on his shoulders, sending him into a kneeling position. He flinched as he heard the clink of his father's belt behind him. Joe raised it, brandishing the leather. "Don't you EVER" It came down on his back and John grit his teeth. "talk back" John refused to cry out. "to ME" Another slash. "AGAIN!" A new series of lashes were unleashed, and when Joe grew enraged at his son's adamant silence, they came quicker and harder. After the tenth, John groaned. "Come ON, Johnny, nothing to say now?" After five more, John couldn't stifle a choked yell. "SCREAM for me, boy!" With every merciless lash he cried out in pain. The inflamed red welts became oozing red gashes. After the twentieth John all-out screamed. Joe stopped just long enough to lean down and whisper into the boy's ear, "You'll always scream for me, Johnny." John vibrated with the two strongest feelings his father made him feel; anger and fear. His head hung, but when Joe stood up to continue, John flipped his hair away from his face. He prepared himself for the pain that was soon delivered. He was able to keep from screaming again by biting his lip, but with just a few more lashes, it too was bleeding. Ten minutes of  
whipping passed; John was on the verge of passing out and Joe was bored with the lack of fight in his kid. He stepped back to admire the mangled skin of John's back, content. "I hope you learned your lesson, boy." He walked around, knelt, and grabbed his neck. Forcing John to look at him, Joe sneered as he struggled to breathe. "What did you learn, fag?" John choked out, "N-not to t-talk back." "And what happens if you do?" John wheezed, trying to force air into his frantic lungs. "Y-you'll... m-make me s-screa...m." Joe nodded, releasing him then walking away to watch TV.

* * *

John came to consciousness the next night. He realized that he had school in the morning; planning on taking the chance to have a safe escape from his father for a day, he tried to get up. The second he moved his body, though, fire flared up his spine and it felt like his body was being shredded. A shriek escaped his lips as he fell back to the floor. After a while of shallow breaths and decided resolve, he gradually dragged himself over to his closet where he pulled out a bottle of brandy. Taking a quick swig to steel his nerves, John grabbed a rag and shoved it between his teeth. Before he could pussy out he held the bottle above his back and poured half the bottle over it. He dropped the container and grabbed the door, letting loose a long muffled scream. In a moment the burning died down and he moved the closet door so he saw his reflection in the long mirror. He turned to see the damage. It was about as ugly as it felt, which was not as bad as it could have been. But he'd have plenty of new scars without a doubt. John grabbed a towel, very gingerly dabbing at it. An hour and many gasps later it was acceptably clean with much of the blood cleared. Deciding that was enough work for one night, he lay on his chest and fell into a fitful sleep, waking up at least twice from the sharp pain his shifting caused.

* * *

The following morning John awoke at the sun's rays on his face. For a split second he forgot the pain and enjoyed the warmth until it all flooded back to the front of his mind; mainly the agony. It was slightly duller now but his body was stiff from his restlessness. He just hadn't had the strength to drag his worn body to his mattress.

Staggering to his feet, Bender snatched his shirts from the other side of the room and clean jeans, limping out of his room and into the bathroom. He moaned at his reflection. His face sported bruises and a bloody lip, his stomach was mildly bruised, and his back looked like someone'd taken a huge cheese grater to it. He laid the clothes on the counter and took gauze from the cabinet. With much caution and patience he sloppily wrapped the cloth around his torso. It hurt badly at first but it kept outside substances or materials from irritating the gashes, and he adjusted. John changed into his clothes, cleaned up his face, and fixed his hair to hide most of the bruises.

John could skip out on school and smoke in an alley or park, but some drunk loser or gangbanger could try to mess with him. Any other time that'd be no big deal, it happened often enough and he was handy with his switchblade. Injured as he was, though, he'd be a sitting duck for someone to rob or attack him. He couldn't take that risk. The safest place was the school, even if Vernon pissed him off or some jock tried to get into a fight.

It was safe enough to sneak out with his father passed out on the couch (though he was still overly cautious). He had to walk slowly and his limp was worse than usual but he made it on time. He was glad he wouldn't have to sit through one of Dick's lectures on tardiness. Ambling into his first period class, Math, he spent the time being less disruptive than usual. He had a lot on his mind.

Like what he would do when he came across a member of the "Breakfast Club". Part of him hoped that they'd forget it, that today he'd just be a mysterious burner to them again. He was the "criminal", and he wanted it to stay that way. But the other half of him wanted their vows of saturday detention to be true. He truly needed to know if they could break through the barriers of the stereotyping and peer pressure to become something... more. Bender scoffed out loud at that thought. He was so pathetic that he let his dad beat him up every night: he was an untouchable criminal at school and on the streets, but at home he was a coward. He would do anything to keep up his reputation here. He may just have thrown that away when he opened up to those kids.

* * *

A few indistinguishable hours passed and it was time for lunch. The halls were crowded with students heading to their lockers. As John finessed his way through the mass of teenagers, a big senior bumped into him; John cringed at the jolting of his sore torso.

"Oops, pardon me, faggot." The burly man laughed. John ignored him. Today was the last day he could afford to get in a brawl. "Aw, look it, big bad Bender's walking away. Scared, pussy?" John stopped walking and faced him.

"Like you'd know one if you saw it."

A hush fell over the corridor and he stared dumbly for a second. He walked up to Bender and glared at the shorter boy. "The fuck did you just say to me?" John was reminded of his father, which only enraged him.

"I said if anyone's a faggot it's you, Goliath." The big guy grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed his back against the lockers. Bender refrained from yelling in pain but it took all he had to keep tears from welling up as "Goliath" dragged him up the lockers, keeping him suspended about six inches off the groud.

"Hey!" John recognized a familiar voice from the crowd as his legs kicked trying to find solid ground. He gripped the bully's arms as he was held by only his shoulders. The pain caused his vision to go blurry and he saw a figure storm up to his tormentor. "Put him down before somebody gets hurt." It was Andy, John saw when he blinked furiously.

"No one would care if some bum got hurt, Clark. Back off." John looked at the wrestler to gauge his response. He almost expected him to laugh in agreement and walk away.

"I would. Now let go of my friend or I won't hold back. I've taken you down on the mat, you think I'll lose when there are no rules to restrain me?" John frowned in confusion. Hadn't he said only two days ago that he could disappear and nobody would care? And since when were they friends?

The big guy looked back to his prey, sneered, and stepped back. Bender fell to his knees but quickly stood. "You're dead," he growled to Goliath.

Andy caught up to John at an empty lunch table and sat down. "What the fuck was that?" He asked, confused. "When I argued with you, you pulled a knife on me! How'd that meat sack get the upper hand? And why didn't you fight back?" John gave him his most intimidating glare and replied menacingly, "I had it under control." "No you didn't, you were held six inches off the ground between lockers and the school's biggest bully! What the fuck man?"

John snarled, lowering his gaze. "Piss off, jock strap." Andy huffed. "Now you're deflecting. Seriously, you've been out of it all day. You didn't even notice Claire waving at you earlier. What gives? Is it Vernon? 'Cause we handled him pretty well when he-" "Shut up, like you give a damn about me anyway. Why don't you go play footsies with basket-case Allison? Or wait, you swing the other way, what with the wrestling and all; why don't you go fuck Brian? Just leave me alone." "Bender, you know your insults get worse when you're grumpy? Just tell me what's up before I do decide to sit with my more gracious girlfriend."

"Don't gotta tell you shit. Fuck off." Andy stood. "Fine. See you, Bender."

John watched as Andy walked over to sit with the gang and pulled out his massive lunch. His stomach growled and he was almost maybe thinking of taking some from the jock. But only as a sign of reconciliation. To make the guy feel less guilty. That was definitely why.

* * *

Twice more he saw a member of the Breakfast Club between classes, but he resolutely ignored them all. He thought he saw Claire tear up and storm away, but it could have been some other red-head.

He skipped last period to blaze up under the bleachers, and when the last bell rang he began walking across the field to head home, purposefully on time. He saw Andy walking with a group of his football-playing friends and veered to avoid the nagging wrestler. He didn't catch Andy's worried glances.

* * *

Upon arriving home John, fortunately, only suffered a few blows to the gut before Joe Bender left to grab a beer. John hurried to his room and stayed there all night.

* * *

At school Bender had trouble concentrating. He'd gotten little sleep and was ridiculously tired; he couldn't figure why. The hours before lunch passed in a startlingly hazy blur, but when that bell rang, he was headed for the gym. It would be empty this period and he did not want to talk to anyone. Just keeping up his tough guy act was exhausting (even though he refused to admit it was an act). But when he entered the locker room he bumped into the last student he wanted to see.

"Well well well, if it isn't everyone's favorite burner." Goliath. "Back for more, without your little boyfriend, I see." He moved to lock the door. "You're not gonna wimp out on me now." John backed up.

"Listen, Gigantor, I really don't wanna get into this. I mean, if I did, I'd obviously win, I'm just not feeling it. Too easy."

"Easy? I had you in the palm of my hand! There's no way you could beat me, burner." He went toward Bender. With a few steps he was backed into a corner. John leaped forward and landed a left-handed punch on his chest. Goliath laughed and grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm so Bender was shoved face-forward into the wall. Goliath yanked harder on the arm and John's wrist reached his right shoulder, his arm pinned against his back and strained at an odd angle. He arched into the wall trying to escape the grip and alleviate the stress on the arm.

"Looks like I have you again, Bender. Hey, how far do you think I can pull your arm until it breaks? Let's see how flexible you are." John grit his teeth as his arm was pulled farther. It was reaching its limit. He only cried out when he knew it was on the verge of breaking.

"N-no wait, stop!" he gasped as Goliath held it, twisting it slightly. "Yes?"

"Don't, you win, alright? Just stop." he felt sick when his tormentor paused. "I don't know, I think I ought to teach you a lesson."

"It wasn't that big of a deal, you gotta chill out man. Or is your brain too primitive to comprehend that concept?" He berated himself when he heard Goliath angrily shout, "Chill out?!" John panicked when he realized what he'd done.

"Wait, listen, I-" his words blended into a loud groan as Goliath pulled his arm farther and he heard and felt it break.

"Y-you..." he spluttered, "You bastard!" Goliath spun him around and laughed at the pained expression on his face and his gasp as John cradled the arm.

"What'd you learn, bum? Think hard." John almost puked, he'd already learned this lesson from his father. He would not give in to some kid. "To come up with better insults. Seeing you mad is quality entertainment."

Goliath shook his head disdainfully. "Wrong answer." He threw John so that he landed on his back on the floor with a moan. Goliath stomped a foot in the center of his chest and pressed down with his weight. John struggled to stay conscious with the difficulty to breathe and the pain of his rib and back. "What... did... you... learn?" John squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered in agonizing defeat. "Not to... t-talk...b-back." He was disgusted with himself. "That's right, you just be an obedient little bitch." Satisfied, he left for lunch. It took ten minutes for Bender to stand, and the rest of the period to finish being sick.

Maybe school was finally educating; he'd learned this lesson well by now.

* * *

Until the end of the day John Bender could be found under the bleachers. Walking home a truck drove up to him and stopped. Andy leaned out of the driver's window. "Bender!" John ignored him. Clark stepped out and caught up. "Hey, Bender," he grabbed John's left arm to pull him back and John spun, punching him in the nose.

"What the fuck, Bender, what was that for?" John continued walking. "Leave me alone, Sporto."

"No! Stop walking, god damnit, John!" He turned around again, facing his "friend". "What do you want?"

"I want you to slow down and talk to me. You're obviously upset, and it seems to be my fault, so tell me what I did wrong. You wanna hit me? I'll give you a free shot! Just tell me why you won't talk to us."

"Us?"

"The Breakfast Club. We're worried about you, John. Please, tell me why you're suddenly world-class ass again, I thought we got past this."

"THIS is who I am. Just because I was locked up with you for eight hours doesn't mean we're soul mates now, Sporto. We are very different people. I don't share my feelings like they're the weather. I have a life and secrets and I want both to stay as they are, MINE."

Andy started. "Really? Because you sure didn't mind playing show-and-tell-me-about-your-pathetic-life." He stepped back in shock. John looked pissed. "Wait, John, I didn't-"

"You think I wanted to tell? That I planned it from the start? I have never told anyone, ever! It just... happened, I couldn't just brush it off when you asked, it would've been worse. I did it, I finally told, and you didn't believe me! Why the fuck would I lie about that? If I did lie, I'd say I wasn't a fucking pathetic pussy! Do you even..." He shook his head in disbelief at Andrew's ignorance. "I can't do that, I can never tell. I would be long gone if I hadn't learned how to take care of myself. And then you come strolling along, saying I don't matter, that I have no future, that I'm a lying sack of shit, exactly what I hear everyday from my old man, from Dick, and now some random ass jock? I get it, I know! I don't need to keep you around just to spit on my grave, where I'll probably end up pretty fucking soon anyway!" John was having trouble breathing by the end of his rant and felt light-headed.

"...John? Are you okay?" Andy rushed to catch him as John collapsed.

* * *

John awoke slowly and painfully. Before he could open his eyes he ground out, "Clark, if you took me to a hospital I will fucking tear your-"

"Shut up Bender, you're at my house. I assumed you'd gouge my eyes out if I took you to a doctor. You'd want to take care of yourself and all that."

"Wise choice." John slowly opened his eyes, inflaming his pounding headache. He realized he was in a real bed, something he wasn't sure if he'd ever experienced. He saw Andy sitting at the end; he took a few minutes to drag his aching body up with one arm to sit up.

"Why did you collapse?" Andy's stare bored into John probingly.

"I don't know, I mean I haven't eaten in..." he had to think for a while. "At least three days, so that might be it."

"What?!" Andrew exclaimed. "Three days? How can you not eat for days?"

John shrugged. "I guess I forgot. Plus there's only beer in our fridge, and school lunch costs money." He noticed Andy's agape face. "It's no big deal."

"No big deal? You have to eat! How often do you eat, John?" he was very worried.

He shrugged again. "Sometimes a meal a day, sometimes not. I usually just give my food to my mom." Seeing his friend's confusion, he explained, "She doesn't get enough."

Andrew shook his head, remembering the detention. "You had no lunch Saturday, you distracted us my mocking ours." John could only look at him, then away. "Is that what's been going on? Why you've been acting weird?"

John frowned. "Have I been?" Andy nodded.

"You've withdrawn more than you already had. If it's not the food... is it Labine, that giant that beat you up?"

"He did not beat me up!"

"He could have."

"I handled it."

Andrew shook his head. "Bender... I'm a wrestler, I can tell when someone's hurt, even when they're good at hiding it. You're injured. Was it him?" John grew uncomfortable. He wasn't about to bitch about his bully problem. "Bender, listen. I know he's got it out for you. I know you haven't been eating. I know about your homelife, and Vernon, and your pot. It's all on the table. I'm good, you can trust me."

John considered him for a moment. He could be useful: he was trained in medical treatment and probably wouldn't tell the cops. If he was going to get any help, Clark was his man. "Yeah, Goliath is part of it. He got to me during lunch today..." he nursed his arm subtly. "He twisted my arm a little is all."

"Let me see," Andy nodded. John leaned forward and pulled up his sleeves (Andrew had removed his long coat). Clark reached out and gently held it, putting pressure on different spots until Bender cried out. "Sorry," he released him, "but that's a spiral arm fracture. That hurts, and it'll only heal wrong if you leave it. You need a cast."

"No way, I can go walking around with a cast, you can't survive in my neighborhood if you aren't invincible."

Andy was a little shocked at that statement. "I can adjust it so that it heals right, but it'll hurt worse." John nodded. Andy took his arm, counting down from three, and on the one he yanked on his arm. Bender groaned.

"Okay, that's done. Now, I understand the hunger causing faintness, but you seemed completely physically worn." John lowered his gaze. "John, what is it?"

"I..." he didn't want to go through this alone but he wasn't sure of his trust in his new friend. But when he saw the concern in Andy's gaze, he decided. "Saturday I got home pretty late. I tried to get to my room safe, but my dad grabbed me. He hit me. A lot. When I hit the floor he dragged me into my room." He kept his gaze on the floor. "He was pretty drunk, like every other night, and really pissed off at my attitude. He..." Bender ran a shaking hand through his long hair streaked grey from stress and anxiety. "He took his belt and... whipped me."

"What? He... how did... are you okay?" Andy was taken aback. What do you say when someone tells you something like that?

John shook his head. "It wasn't as bad as it's been before. It just takes a while to heal."

Andy blinked. "He's done this to you before?" John nodded. "Shit," He frowned. "This was that night?" Nod. "So while we were warm, safe in bed, you were..." He felt sick. "I need to see." John begrudgingly agreed. He turned slowly so his back was facing Andy. Clark retrieved fresh gauze and ointment and returned. "Ready?" Andy removed John's shirts cautiously, then began to unwrap the bloody gauze.

When he reached the end he had to fight to not vomit.

It was torn and mauled as if he'd been dragged along a road hitched to the back of a truck. There was clotted blood and slowly running blood; the bandage had stuck to the wounds and when it'd been removed it had taken some skin with it. Bender barely flinched. "Sorry," Andrew mumbled as he continued to examine his friend. He dabbed at the cuts until the blood was cleared. "You should get stitches," he commented.

**A/N: Follow the story if you want more; review to tell me about mistakes, opinions, or other comments. Hope you enjoyed.**


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